Deductions Through Time
by JadeBuohler
Summary: There's a book. Written by a genius; published Oct. 31st, 1892. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. What could be more thrilling? That's exactly what Clara thinks. Dragging the Eleventh with her, she meets the great Arthur Conan Doyle. So how's it possible that when they return to the present, the book of Sherlock Holmes is empty and the man himself lives? (BBC Sherlock/Who)
1. Ulkatrazers

**Alright, let's see how you like the first chapter. The next will be updated very soon. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**  
**If you are interested, check out my other fics! Loki, _Hidden Within_, and Sherlock, _Redbeard.  
_Thank you! Share your thoughts! :3**

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"Bloody hell." Clara groaned as she searched through the endless pile of books, huddled close together in a golden box, a treasure chest type thing appearing as though it had come from the set of a low-wage pirate movie. She threw each out as she passed over them in exhaustion.

_Boring titles. Boring covers._ Dust landed just below her nose as if it held a strong grudge against her, forcing her to continuously sneeze.

"He can travel anywhere in time and space in his own personal little blue box,"  
She grunted shaking her head, "But he can't possibly find any good books to read?"

She tossed an ugly, old object from the hidden depths of the dusty box and onto the floor, unsure of what it was. As her fingers touched the next book, under the mess of thingamabobs, she froze to stare wide-eyed at the cover, immediately admiring the work of art.

It was a classic. A book from her childhood. _Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. _

_Masterpiece_, she marveled, gazing at the fragile stack of paper held together by a mere threading. She opened to a random page.

_~I had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanor with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel.~_

Clara was knocked from her quiet reading by the blue doors of the TARDIS bursting open in enthusiastic energy.

"Clara, Clara, Clara!" The tall man, with the bowtie exclaimed, arms extending in such supreme bliss that it somewhat irked her.

"Doctor?" She asked raising her eyebrows with a sigh.  
He approached her and took her cheeks in his hands, placing a wet kiss on her forehead, to which she simply rolled her eyes.

"Am I glad I didn't take you with me out there!" He exhaled deeply with wide eyes of mocking distress.

Clara crossed her arms over her torso with one raised brow. "Oh, really?"

The Doctor nodded in reassurance, "Believe me, Ulkatron is not your cup of tea." He hopped up, onto an upper rim facing the TARDIS control panel.  
Clara obediently followed him, the book hidden in her grasp, as her arm hung down beside her.

"Ulkatrazers!" The Doctor exclaimed, clapping his hands together enthusiastically.

Clara stared, wide-eyed at the time lord. "What did you call me?" She teased with a rather serious expression.

The Doctor grinned, however kept his eyes on the glowing buttons before him. "Little brain sucking prototypes. _Nasty things_." He spat with a shake of his head, hitting a strange yellow lever on the control panel.

Clara jerked backwards in confusion, "Sorry?"

The Doctor sighed and rolled his eyes mockingly, "Little gadgets Clara. They look like Cybermats, quite honestly. Might even be related." The Doctor stated, staring up at something in the distance.

"However, these guys suck all the ideas out of your head and toss them across all of space and time." He added with a smile, bopped Clara on the head and sprinted up and around the panel of buttons, his small suit flying behind him. Clara blinked, and then shook the confusion away.

"Right." She sighed and raised her eyebrows, "And you took care of that, did you?" She asked with a small smirk, pulling herself up beside the Doctor as he adjusted odd TARDIS settings.

"Yes." The Doctor wiggled proudly, gazed at her and then turned his attention away again.

Clara swallowed and blushed as she posed her next question. "Doctor, may I make a request?"

The Doctor turned to her with narrowed eyes, "As long as it doesn't include any roses, or ponds." He stated firmly, and frankly quite seriously, as he sped around the rim of the controls. Clara cleared her throat and nodded, removing the book from under her arm and raising it up for the Doctor to see.  
He squinted at it, and soon his blank expression brightened with a handsome smile.

"_Clara_, have you been reading?" He boasted with a chuckle, and winked her way. She followed him around the precarious amount of buttons.

"Well, yes. In a way." She smirked and opened the book to, yet again, another random page.

_"~He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval.~"_

When she peered up from the book, she saw the Doctor smiling sweetly down at her. She grinned and pushed closed the pages again.

"What is your request, dear Clara?" The Doctor sighed with a curious smirk.

Clara shook her head and shrugged effortlessly, "I want to meet _Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_." She stood up proudly and took hold of the Doctor's hand. "Please." She pleaded and watched as his expression cringed at her begging.

"What if I take you there, and Sir Doyle turns out to be a Zygon from Zygor? Hmm? What will you say then?" The Doctor asked with a peculiar twist in features.

Clara rolled her eyes, "Doctor, I simply want to meet the man and ask him about Sherlock Holmes. His stories were my childhood adventures." She admitted with an embarrassed smile and then wiggled the book in front of the Doctor's face. He furrowed his eyebrows in hesitation, before letting out a prolonged sigh.

"_Fine_, about the meeting. But no asking! You could throw off the future!" The Doctor warned with a stern look that soon turned to a soft, teasing expression. Clara grinned excitedly and swung around the panel of controls, eager to take off in the TARDIS.

The Doctor winked with an enthusiastic raise of his eyebrows, "The date, dear Clara?"

She let out a chuckle and stood up straight, bursting with excitement. "October 31st, 1892."  
She stated firmly, "The date Sherlock Holmes was set to be published."

The Doctor smiled and bowed to her, elegantly. "As you wish." He whispered with a scoff.  
He fixed the TARDIS onto its path and stared at the lever before him.

"Geronimo." He murmured to himself, and grabbed hold of the controls.


	2. Arthur Conan Doyle

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"Clara Oswald," The Doctor declared enthusiastically, "Welcome to 1892!"

Clara's eyes widened as she stepped from the TARDIS. Yeah, they were in a dark alleyway, hiding the TARDIS securely, but through the small opening her eyes caught sight of the intricate old-fashioned buildings, horses and carts, and sharply dressed men and women.

"This is insane!" She exclaimed with a laugh of disbelief, dashing down the grungy alleyway, and it's the chaos of the world. Dust flew through the air as it slid off the hooves of horses and the wheels of the carts they pulled along with them. Women swayed on by, bearing the length of beautiful dresses, their own arms wrapped in the arms of gentlemen, wearing suits and ties, and fancy hats. Clara marveled at the sights she'd only seen in history books. She whirled to face the Doctor, who stood behind her, grinning marvelously.

"Shall we?" He asked with a wink and extended his arm. Clara gladly accepted it and they stepped onto the dusty path in eager excitement. She stared at the different shops, market places, and people that strode on by. Curiosity over took astonishment as she gripped tighter the Doctor's arm.

"Doctor?" She asked with a small smirk. He leaned down to face her with raised eyebrows.

"You look fine," She began, "But I believe I need a corset."  
With a wink, she watched as the Doctor rolled his eyes while she pointed to a small shop on the end of the block, especially for dresses.

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"Better?" He asked with a scoff, as Clara spun in her red and black new dress, a short hat hanging in her dark brown hair.

"Much better." She grinned and took hold of his arm again. "So where to, Doctor?" She questioned with wide eyes of anxiousness.

"Upper Wimpole Street," He smiled and led Clara out of the store. "I believe that is where the novelist stays."

The swayed next to one another down the long stretching paths of olden day England. It was fascinating; the sights, the sounds, the smells. They walked for what felt like forever before they finally reached the presumed house of Doyle. The Doctor smiled with a wink to Clara and carefully knocked on the door.

After a few moments of eager silence, a head popped out around the doorframe, narrowing it eyes in suspicion. The elderly man had just a short bit of white-gray hair resting on the top of his oval-ish head, and an extremely presumptuous mustache, which stuck out in all the wrong ways.

Clara grinned widely and stuck out her hand, "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Yes, I am Clara. Clara Oswald."  
She exclaimed, shaking his arm vigorously, to which he simply stared in confusion.

"And I'm the Doctor." The Doctor stated proudly with a petite smile. Clara nodded as she glanced over at the time lord and then back to the novelist.

"I'm a huge fan of Sherlock Holmes!" Clara informed the man.

"A what? A huge what?" Doyle managed in his confusion.

Before Clara could respond, a sweet voice suddenly echoed from behind the old man, who still stood squinting his eyes and scratching his nearly bald head. "Who is it, Arthur?" The voice called and suddenly a woman appeared. She had rather thick, balled up hair of brown, that sat on her head like a bird's nest, Clara thought at least, metaphorically.

"They like Sherlock Holmes, Jean." Doyle mumbled to his apparent wife, and she lit up like a light blub.

"Oh, come in! Come in!" She exclaimed and ushered them through the door.  
The Doctor nudged an excited Clara as they walked through the antique walls of the old house.

"Beautiful." Clara uttered, and Jean turned around with a wide grin.

"Thank you, dear." Clara smirked as the woman led them to a small table, dressed up nicely in a knitted table spread. The crazy-haired woman then placed a kettle before the Doctor and Clara as they slowly sat down in the wonky old chairs. Doyle swayed behind them and sat in a sofa chair, right up close to the table.

"You say you are a 'fan' of Sherlock Holmes?" He asked politely.

Clara nodded with a wide smile.

"How exactly are you a 'fan'? In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?"

Clara swallowed and glanced over at the Doctor. He shrugged it off and turned back to Doyle.

"She's just odd." The Doctor informed the man and Clara made a face, "But in fact I must say, Sir Doyle, your work is absolutely brilliant."

The Doctor added smoothly. Doyle nodded and Clara grinned happily at the man she was so inspired by.

"Thank you." He bobbed his head slightly with a shrug. The woman then reappeared with biscuits on a tray.

"You glad he brought him back to life then?" She asked with a petite smile, nudging Doyle on the shoulder after she put down the plate of goodies, of which the Doctor was already helping himself to.

"He got beat up in the streets after throwing Holmes off that waterfall." The woman raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her tea.

Doyle nodded with a sigh, "Ah yes. He and Moriarty were supposed to stay dead. I had more important projects to work on." He informed the two guests with a grunt. The Doctor turned to Clara with raised eyebrows, to which she responded with the same notion.

"What do you plan to do next with the characters?" Clara asked, her interest now peeked.  
The Doctor glared at her through narrowed eyes, a look that said 'I warned you', and flinched under the table.

"Ow!" The sound emanated from Doyle as he gazed over at the two of them in disbelief.  
"Did you just kick me?" He asked in shock, staring wide-eyed at the Doctor, who obviously meant to strike Clara.

He froze and then motioned to his companion.

"Did you just kick him? Why did you kick him?" He questioned Clara, who sat with her mouth gaped open.

"I-" She began with startled eyes of speechlessness. "Yes, I, um, I have leg spasms."

Doyle's eyebrows raised sky high in surprise, and the Doctor held back a laugh.

"Oh, is that contagious?" The novelist asked.  
Clara furrowed her eyebrows, "No. I don't believe so."

Doyle nodded with a sigh of relief. "Oh good. Well, sorry, to hear that, Clara Oswald."  
Clara swallowed and cleared her throat. "Yes." She replied simply.

The Doctor then sprang to his feet in conclusion, breaking the awkward silence.  
"Well! It was an honor to meet you, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!"

Clara stared up at him, wide-eyed and hesitant.

"You're leaving so soon?" His wife asked with a tilted head of confusion.

The Doctor nodded and reached forward to give the woman a rather large hug.  
"Yes, terribly sorry!" He smiled and drew back from the embrace, "It was nice to meet you Miss Jean Leckie."

Clara raised both eyebrows and got up as well, shaking the crazy-haired woman's hand with a small grin.  
The Doctor gave Arthur a huge bear hug as well, and took Clara by the arm, dragging her over to the man so that she could say her goodbyes.

"Thank you for Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Doyle." She stated, shook his hand and then carefully wrapped both arms around him. He froze in a sort of disbelief.

The Doctor then intertwined his arm with his companion's, and led her from the small cottage in old England, leaving the two famous icons behind to ravel in their own surprise.

"Did we have to leave so soon?" Clara moaned with a small smirk of disappointment.

"Best not to dwell in the past too long, Clara." The Doctor smiled solemnly.

Clara nodded and sighed softly, "That was," She paused and shook her head, "incredible."


	3. Vanished

**I updated this because I wanted to add in a little part :) **  
**Sorry it's short. Working on ch 4 right now. :D**

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"I can't believe you kicked Arthur Conan Doyle." Clara mocked amusingly, sitting in a small chair located in the corner of the TARDIS's control panel.

"Oh, shut up." The Doctor groaned as he hit a few levers and gears, preparing their flight back to the present. Clara sighed with a smirk and got to her feet, swaying over to where the Time Lord stood, pressing odd buttons.

"Where to next?" Clara questioned happily, gazing at her companion with immense bliss.

The Doctor smiled, 'Where ever you want-"

Suddenly, an irritating sound roared through every corner, and room of the TARDIS, springing both Clara and the Doctor to life, like an alarm clock in the mornings.

"What is that?" Clara exclaimed, her hands on her ears.

"The TARDIS," The Doctor began, jogging over to the small screen that hung above the control panel, revealing the time and date, "She's trying to tell us something!" He yelled out to his companion, as he dashed around, smacking levers, and gazing at funny fluorescent glowing lights. Clara did the same, her eyes vibrating over every inch of the room they stood in, desperately searching for anything out of the ordinary. And that's what she found.

"Doctor."

The Time Lord glanced over at her expression, her eyes widened in disbelief, as she stared at a small table just passed the lengths of the control panel. "What, Clara? I'm a little busy." He gasped and raced around to the other side of the deck, still struggling to get the ear-piercing alarm under control.

"The book, Doctor." Clara managed as she jogged over to the small, hidden-away table.

The Doctor stopped his fussing with the different controls, and simply watched as Clara approached the book. Clara grabbed hold of it, wrapping her fingers around the leather cover. Empty. No words on the cover, or picture. She opened it up and gasped. Every chapter, gone. No more. Vanished into the air, like smoke from a fire.

It hurt her heart to stare down at its emptiness. Most of her childhood was wrapped inside that book. She remembered running up to her father, holding it out, eager to hear another "detective story", as she had called it. Sure, there had been other books she enjoyed, but something about Sherlock Holmes - his manner of being, who he was, the way he thought, his intelligence – drew her in wholly.

Her eyes widened as she glanced over at the Doctor's frozen statue. He blinked, unsure of what to say about the empty book. Clara visibly swallowed and shook her head in shock. Suddenly, the noise stopped, the shaking and rattling ceased, and the TARDIS stopped flying through the time vortex.

The Doctor finally moved as he scurried over to the small screen displaying the time, date, and location.

He narrowed his eyes, and then glanced over at Clara.

"What is it?" Clara questioned, as she stared at the Doctor's puzzled expression. "Doctor?"

The Doctor turned to face her, his eyebrows raised in disbelief and confusion.

"2010." The Doctor uttered almost inaudibly, but Clara caught it.

"2010?" Clara asked, her head tilted to the side.

"Yes, 2010." The Doctor huffed at his oblivion.

"Why on Galifrey is she taking us to London, 2010." He mumbled, banging his hand on the screen as if it was broken. Clara shrugged, tucking the empty book under her arm. "Only one way to find out." She stated firmly, and headed for the door of the TARDIS. The Doctor nodded and followed. Just before they turned to exit, he took hold of her arm. "Clara, I believe something is very wrong here." Clara winced and cleared her throat. "Then we'll fix it." She winked and smiled kindly, although wearily. "We always do."


	4. 221B

_**Sorry, it has been so long. I am going to be more dedicated to this fic from now on I believe. I've just been soooooo busy.**_  
_**Alrightie! Tell me what you think! And please please please please review!**_

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It was in that very moment that Clara thought anything was possible.

Perhaps pigs would one day fly, perhaps our technology will someday take over the Earth in a freak electricity accident, or even perhaps humans will someday get the incredibly well-thought-of ideas in Back to the Future, in this case, 'one size fits all' jackets, or self-tied sneakers. _Not to mention hover boards._

It was because in that moment, it was as if Clara Oswald was reliving her childhood. Everything she had read about as a child.  
The magic of a madman's creation, most likely thought up in a dream or even a nightmare. _Damn, she'd forgotten to ask him._

She blinked her eyes several times, before fully accepting the sight displayed in front of her.

Sure, it was London.  
She had seen London before, granted she hadn't seen it in 2010, but she had seen it before.  
And nothing was different; black cabs still sped around the roadways, honking and growling as they got stuck behind hundreds of others in bustling traffic.

No, no. It wasn't the fact that she was in London, 2010.

It was what she was facing.

The door.

The door before her, three numbers and one letter placed perfectly level in grand, golden metal.

It took her breath away, the very sight she laid her eyes on, and she could tell the Doctor felt the same, stiffening beside her in unlimited amounts of confusion, suspicion, and astonishment.

For the door before the both of them read, clearly, in its bright bold, iron letters: _221B._

"D-D-Doctor," Clara mumbled, feeling for her companion's hand as she gazed up at the addressed.  
She grazed over his arm, fumbling as she tried to grab hold of his suit jacket.

"Y-yes, Clara." He finally moved from his frozen still stance, and grabbed hold of Clara's flapping hand, staring at her with wide eyes at her sudden disruption. "All right! All right!" He exclaimed when she basically clinged on to him.

She gasped, unable to remove her eyes from the shimmering navy – no, black? No, dark green? No. – door before her.  
"Doctor, we're at-"

"Yes. It seems we are."

"But that means," She trailed off, lifting her hand forward as she approached the door before her.  
The Doctor followed close behind.

Her palm landed on its shiny, gold knocker, tracing the uncanny engravings, and beautiful décor surrounding it.  
She took it firmly into her grasp, drew it back, and slammed it onto the wooden surface.

"Clara!" The Doctor exclaimed, and grabbed her, pulling her away from the impossible door.

She shook her head, and was suddenly laughing, "What? What is it?"  
The Doctor stiffened but didn't respond.

"Don't we need to investigate? What better way than to knock on the door?" She shrugged.

He groaned and sighed loudly, "No, no. This is bad, this is very bad!"

Clara narrowed her eyes, "Come on. How bad can it be?"

The Doctor lifted his arm, as if to show a representation of on-a-scale-from-one-to-ten, and his hand was stretched as far as he could stretch it.

Clara gulped and nodded, "That bad?"

The Doctor huffed and recoiled, attempting to explain, "Clara, if we are about to meet who I think we are going to meet, then, yes, _that bad_."

Before Clara could comment, the incredible door flew open, and the head of a small, rather petite, old lady popped out.

She had balled up blonde and brown hair, mixed in the most appealing way, and her lips were a faint pink, which wholly distracted you from the wrinkles that sat on her expression. She seemed to stare at the two strangers politely, yet still remaining highly cautious.

Clara's eyes lit up as she went out on a limb, clearing her throat and grinning at the old woman. "Ms. Hudson?"

The elderly lady jerked back in surprise, and a faint smile tugged at her creased lips. "Yes. I'm sorry dear, but do I know you?"

Clara sighed in relief and pure amazement as she approached the door further, the Doctor hanging back, simply observing the scene currently taking place.  
"No, I'm afraid not-"

Before she could go on, the lady laughed, "Oh, good. I was beginning to think I was loosing my head! I wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours."

Clara smiled widely at Ms. Hudson's rather enticing compliment, and bowed her head gracefully, "I was wondering, is there by any chance a –"  
She glanced at the Doctor with a carefully twisted expression, whom stared back while flashing a faint nod, and then back to the old lady, " – Sherlock Holmes, or Dr. John Watson around?"

The elderly woman's features brightened and she grinned excitedly, "Oh, you must be clients! How rude of me! They will be so pleased."  
She ranted and ushered them inside the building.  
Clara and the Doctor exchanged looks, before filing inside, each step more nervous than the previous.

"What do I call you two then?"

The Doctor perked up at this and smiled nervously, "This beautiful, young companion of mine is Clara; Clara Oswald. And I'm –"  
He seemed to hesitate and Clara shrugged, puzzled as to why, "Just _the Doctor_."

The old lady raised an eyebrow playfully and scoffed, "_The Doctor_? That's a bit strange."

Ms. Hudson continued to ramble on, mostly ignored by the Doctor, who had already drawn his sonic screwdriver in an attempt to figure out their predicament, but wholly listened to by Clara.

"The two of them have been so bored up there in that flat. I can't even imagine what they've gotten up to."  
A sly smirk filled the old lady's expression and Clara could have sworn she blushed.

As Ms. Hudson led them to a door, and tapped quietly before reaching for the handle, Clara's breathing quickened with excitement, and her heart began to beat at an insanely fast rate. The Doctor gently placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch, just as the old woman pushed open the door.

"Hoo-hoo?" Ms. Hudson cooed as she wobbled through the doorframe and into a cluttered flat.

Clara gasped in outright disbelief and accelerated astonishment.

Papers scattered every inch of the floor, whilst miscellaneous items littered the shelves of dusty bookcases, or cupboards.  
The kitchen was visible, the island in the middle completely swamped by experimental tools, like beakers, and testing tubes, and a rather large expensive-looking microscope. The flat's free space consisted of two chairs and a sofa; one armchair red with a floral design, that looked old but insanely comfortable, and the other black leather, wrinkled as though someone had recently sat on it. Both faced a small fireplace, which also bore strange thingamabobs, such as a display of a bat and a few beetles, all dead of course, and a human skull sitting wide-eyed, rather comfortably. Strange patterns filled the wallpaper along with eerie décor, like the sculpted artwork of a buffalo head who jokingly wore headphones, most likely added by the owner.

Clara marveled at the place, feeling oddly cozy, and took a peek at the Doctor, whose eyebrows were raised in intrigue and, frankly, surprise.

"Sherlock?" Ms. Hudson called out, questionably.

Clara couldn't help the grin that sprawled across her features, and quickly hid it when she noticed the Doctor glancing over at her.  
This was happening. This was really happening. She was about to meet one of her favorite storybook characters.  
It was like meeting a famous person, however far more rare and absolutely, utterly unique.

From the depths of a corridor, a small being emerged, trotting slowly up to where the two strangers stood, staring wide-eyed at their surroundings.  
Clara watched as his expression softened upon seeing them, as if he was somewhat relieved, or entirely thankful.

When he came farther into view, Clara was surprised.  
He was fairly short, though incredibly handsome in that polite, gentle kind of way.  
He appeared to be the kind of person anyone would love to have in his or her life, the kind of person who would always be there to comfort you and acknowledge whatever appeared to be eating at your mind.  
He had dusty blonde hair, and utterly wise, dark blue eyes that seemed incredibly friendly, yet could possibly, very well, be harshly stern, and criticizing if twisted in the wrong way, for example out of anger or disappointment.  
He wore a beige, more crème colored, jumper with frankly appealing dark blue jeans.

He peered over at Ms. Hudson grinning widely, and then turned to face the two strangers.  
"Hi," He smiled, mostly directing the kindness towards Clara, his eyes sparkling as they fell upon her.  
His hand extended, and she quickly shook it, beaming so very charmingly.  
He then fixed his eyes on the Doctor, who gladly accepted the hand he extended as well, shaking it up and down rather enthusiastically.

The man then drew back, smiling at the two of them before nodding and stating his name, "I'm John. John Watson."

Clara caught her breath and grinned so very widely. "Clara!"  
She replied, all too quickly, as John's face widened in curiosity. "Clara Oswald."  
She added, far quieter now.

John bobbed his head and then glanced at the Doctor, who of course answered with, "The Doctor."

John narrowed his eyes and scoffed slightly, "The Doctor?"

The tall man beside Clara, his brown hair loopy in front of his face, nodded. "Indeed."

John raised both eyebrows, "Interesting. I'm a doctor as well."

Clara was sure the small man just wanted to make conversation to buy himself time, for some odd reason.

"Yes, Dr. John Watson. Army doctor, war veteran; am I right? Served in Afghanistan?"  
The Doctor grinned proudly at the man's look of disbelief.

He paused, cleared his throat, looked around, and then faced the Time Lord again. "Are you and Sherlock related?"

Clara twitched at the mention of his name, desperately eager to meet the man.

The Doctor laughed and shook his head, "Unfortunately not. Wouldn't that be something?"

Clara held back the giggles and instead smirked, as she looked up at the alien she was so fond of.  
Even John Watson chuckled, and it instantly warmed her heart.  
She had always admired John in the books.  
They were his stories of course; told from his point of view; shared to the world through his words.  
She wondered, _how did he do it now?_

"John!" The deep, baritone shout shook Clara from her relaxed position next to the Time Lord, who was instantly on edge, prepared to face whatever was hurled at him next, as usual. John Watson stiffened and turned to glare at the corridor he had emerged from.

"Cigarettes. Where are they?" The voice called, well, frankly, _demanded._

It was soothing, deep and enigmatic, immediately drawing Clara in.  
She raised her eyebrows at the words flying through the air.  
When the mysterious speaker got no response, he tried again.

"For _god's sake_, John! Just tell me where they are!"

Footsteps were heard pounding against the floor of the flat, and echoing throughout.

And then the figure was revealed.

Tall, unbelievably tall. Thin, too thin.  
His face was perfectly sculpted; his cheekbones popping out like the blade of a dagger, sharp and deeply set.  
His lips were full, and the perfect color, a light barely noticeable pink.  
His hair sprawled out elegantly on his head, curls lying every which way as though it had been ruffled in frustration.

And then his eyes. For Clara, she had never seen any so beautiful.  
Gray, maybe blue, yet perhaps greens, and twined with gold – shimmering elegantly in the artificial light.

This man was far too attractive for his own well-being, at least in Clara's bemused and highly attracted thoughts.  
He wore a slick white dress shirt, tucked into his black slacks, topped off with the most eye-catching, charcoal colored, lace-up dress shoes.

He looked expensive in Clara's mind, but it was a price she would be willing to pay any day.  
She internally slapped herself for _that one._

When his attention fell upon the two newcomers at the doorframe, finally wavering off of John, Clara froze.  
His eyes seemed to look through her, chewing at the insides of her soul, and stealing away all her secrets.  
The stranger simply blinked, glanced at Clara, glanced at the Doctor, glanced at Ms. Hudson and then returned to John, who had already begun to speak.

With a sigh, the good doctor turned to the two "presumed clients" and smiled.  
"I suppose this is who you're looking for."

John shrugged and chuckled softly.

Clara felt her heart begin to beat abnormally, the scene becoming clear as her companion swallowed and partially stiffened beside her.

"_Doctor, Ms. Oswald_." John stated, "Meet _Sherlock Holmes."_


End file.
